


the campfire that mocks the sun

by mellyflori



Series: we send starships [3]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Vikings, M/M, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 15:08:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3492920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellyflori/pseuds/mellyflori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The stranger’s eyes are warm and kind, wrinkled at the corners from laughing and checking the horizon. His smile is bright, dazzling, but somehow not overwhelming. The dimples on each side of his mouth somehow soften him, make him approachable and easy. Athos wants to close his eyes and turn his face toward this smile, to let it warm him.</p><p>Even Aramis has stopped moving, stopped trying to walk on. Somehow he has found the wits to smile back at this beautiful stranger.</p><p>“Can I help you?” the smith asks.</p><p>“We are looking around the town,” Aramis says. “Our ship arrived from Hedeby this morning and this is our first chance to stretch our legs. I’m Aramis and this is Athos.”</p><p>“Porthos,” the stranger says, his smile growing wider. “Welcome.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	the campfire that mocks the sun

**Author's Note:**

> Things I have taken liberty with: 
> 
> \- The tattoos. The best evidence we have is from way before and way after, but we do have written accounts of things that are probably tattoos. I've used the [Siberian finds](http://siberiantimes.com/culture/others/features/siberian-princess-reveals-her-2500-year-old-tattoos/) and the contemporary descriptions to inform what I've described here. 
> 
> \- Putting our boys on a historical journey. Wulfstan of Hedeby sailed to Truso in the late 800's and as I know a bit about Hedeby and a bit about Truso, that worked perfectly.
> 
> \- Giving Athos belt findings from Birka instead of Hedeby. I just like the Birka bears.
> 
> The research is the work of an enthusiastic amateur, please forgive any mistakes. Thank you, as always, to Cee, for everything. To Dee for being my favorite menace. And to Anique who kept this going even on my crankiest nights.

__ “In the heat of her hands I thought, This is the campfire that mocks the sun.  
This place will warm me, feed me and care for me. I will hold on to this pulse against other rhythms.  
The world will come and go in the tide of a day but here is her hand with my future in its palm.”   

\- Jeanette Winterson, _Written on the Body_

_*****_

 

It’s not like when they go off on long voyages, there isn’t a celebration the night before they leave. Athos and Aramis sit in the hall of one of their closest friends and drink quietly for a while before returning to their own smaller house.

“Is it so hard for you to just take the good fortune?” Aramis says, standing in the workshop and knocking the mud off his boots before stepping into the main room.

Athos rubs his boots against the doorway, scraping the worst of the mud off against the wood. “I only said that I wished I knew why we were going. I’m not going to stay home, not when we could use the payment.” Aramis is stoking the fire and Athos settles on to the long bench along the left wall, the sigh as he relaxes against the furs and blankets and closes his eyes makes it sound as though the walk were hours instead of the handful of steps across the road.

“Good,” Aramis says, moving a blanket and his good blue wool shirt from the large storage chest under his bench into his smaller sea chest. “Because I have no desire to be stuck on that ship for who knows how man days without my best friend, and I would have hurt myself trying to take you by force. You kick surprisingly hard for your size.” Athos cracks his eyes open and he can see Aramis’ enormous grin.

He snorts. “Aramis, you haven’t been able to take me anywhere by force since before you could grow hair on your face.”

Unwinding his leg wraps and rolling them into a neat bundle, Aramis says, “Still, I am glad you’re coming.” His voice is surprisingly quiet. He secures his winingas with the small brass hooks and tucks the little roll of wool into the large chest before tugging his hose off to let them dry by the fire.

Athos is quiet for a minute, a smile creeping over his face at the sight of this man who has been closer to him than blood for longer than he can remember. Aramis is lovely, a good fighter and a strong sailor. By rights, he should have been married by now, tucked away in one of the new, small houses with a garden outside the door. He’s not, though, and Athos is so glad. “Who would you talk to on the ship if you didn’t have me? Besides, if you left me here I would drown in all this rain.”

He would be fine in the rain, and they both know it. Athos would be warm and dry and terribly lonely. There is endless teasing for Aramis’ chattiness and flirting with women and men alike, but Athos has grown used to his voice. It’s the background noise of his life and without it the little house would be so empty.

“So,” Athos says, bending to pull his own boots off. “Tomorrow morning we’ll take our chests to the dock and make sure Wulfstan gets to Truso, and just for you I won’t ask why.” Aramis is hanging his belt on the hook next to his cloak and he stops to shoot a smirk over his shoulder.

“We’ll see if you manage that.”

A little later, when the fire is warm and they’re both down to their linen undertunics and pants, snug under their blankets, Aramis flicks his eyes to the other side of the room. He can see Athos across the fire, his face already smoothing out in sleep, he must have had more to drink that Aramis thought. He’d never tell Athos how glad he is that they’ll be on this trip together, never mention that he’s worried also. Not knowing the purpose of their trip is just as confusing for Aramis, but he knows that with Athos along there’s nothing they can’t handle. There is nothing Aramis does that he doesn’t do better with Athos at his side.

Well… almost nothing, he thinks, remembering his last tumble with one of the local girls. Then, like a popping ember, there’s a quick flash in Aramis’ head, just a sudden imagining of Athos’ tattoos in the firelight, his body stretched over some willing girl and his best smirk aimed at Aramis. His mouth goes dry and Aramis thinks that maybe he was right the first time. Maybe there is _nothing_ they wouldn’t do better together.

Cramming that image down in the back of his mind where he hopes not even his dreams can find it, Aramis pulls the blanket and fur up under his chin and tries to sleep.

The two of them dress for the weather the next day. Wool wherever they can get it and double layers of linen where they can’t. It’s summer, but the wind is strong and it’ll be stronger out on the water. Their chests are loaded but not too heavy, they put in some extra dried meat and fruit just to be safe, rolling it in their dry clothes and hoping that’s enough.

The sun is out, a miracle of sorts, and Aramis squints into the light and then turns his grin on Athos. His torque is bright at his neck, there is butter-yellow embroidery on the shoulders of his red coat, and the pin holding it closed at the neck has a filigree raven on it. Everything on Aramis glints, even his smile. Especially his smile.

“Stop showing off for the girls, let’s go,” Athos says, rolling his eyes.

There are twenty of them on the crew, enough to double up on oars if needed but not so many that their stores of water and food will take up every inch of the deck. Wulfstan is there, showing men where to put their chests, supervising the loading of the casks of water and dried fish onto the boat, and generally making it known exactly who is in charge of this journey.

When everyone has stowed their chests, dropped their shields along the sides and kissed their families goodbye, they cast off the lines from the dock and row until they’re in open water and Hedeby is behind them. The heavy _whump_ of the sail catching the wind is a glorious sound, it means they can put up the oars and take a break. Athos is prepared to row all the way through to the mouth of the Vistula if need be, but he’ll take every break he can get.

The wind stays with them longer than anyone expects. They pass through the gap between the islands and out into the bigger water, keeping Wendland to their starboard as they pass Lolland, Skåne, and Bornholm to the larboard. Aramis sits with his back against his sea chest, his face turned toward the sky. His eyes are closed and he’s soaking up the sun on his face. Both of them have tucked their heavier coats into their chests for the day, warm enough with just the wool and linen of their tunics.

Athos is sitting against his own chest, his feet braced against Aramis, working on a small gaming piece for a kubb set he’s been making for a year. He turns the piece over and over in his hands and imagines the winter when they’ll sit right next to the fire and play long into the dark evenings. If the wind keeps with them like this, Athos will get through the three pieces of wood he brought with him and have nothing to do on the return trip but needle Aramis. He smiles at the prospect; it’s good for Aramis to be on the receiving end of the teasing sometimes.

Aramis doesn’t even open his eyes before he speaks. “You’re quiet over there. You’re always so quiet. People think it’s because you don’t have anything to say. I don’t tell them the truth, I don’t tell them that you’re always studying. That you miss nothing. I don’t tell them how much strength it takes for you to be quiet and still sometimes.” He cracks one eye open to stare at Aramis through the slit. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Even for Aramis it’s a lengthy speech. Athos might have still been surprised by it even a few years ago, but since they moved from their families houses into a bachelor house together he’s learned a few things. Athos has come to realize that Aramis studies things as closely as he himself does, that there’s very little he doesn’t catch. Aramis is too clever by half.

“Good,” Athos says. “Because I still haven’t told anyone about that thing with Thora last year, so we’re keeping each other’s secrets.”

Aramis’ laugh is a startled bark and he takes a swipe at Athos’ knee with his foot. Athos just smiles back at him and they both go back to their quiet enjoyment of a day under full sail.

When the wind finally calms enough that they need to bring the oars out, it’s been a full seven days and nights and they are nearing the harbor at Truso. The docks aren’t as large as at Hedeby, and there are fewer of them. Beyond the docks, Aramis can see the houses, fewer of them but longer. More than one family in each, probably, and one long hall for the unmarried warriors of the town. He thinks about the quiet nights he gets with Athos, how loud it would be in a longhouse with the men on this ship, and he frowns. So far to go to find out how nice it is at home.

Half the members of their crew are up and casting lines out to the men on the docks while Athos and Aramis work at furling the sail and stowing their chests. By the time the ship is safely tied up to the dock, Wulfstan is practically hopping down onto the dock to grasp the hand of a short, fat man wearing a gold ring on every finger. A timid and very young woman who is clearly the short man’s wife is standing behind him, her face cowed. Whatever conversation Wulfstan is here to have, Aramis and Athos are glad to not be a part of it. This isn’t a man either of them wants to have anything more to do with than they have to.

A few of the men go in search of food and drink, Athos and Aramis pull the trade goods and coin they’ve brought with them out of their chests and go in search of what merchants there are to be found. Truso is the end of the amber road, silk and spices coming in here in greater quantities and better quality than might be expected for a town with only one large dock and two small ones.

Hedeby has a marketplace near the center of town, busy on most days and easy to find. Truso is going to be harder to figure out. Athos slips his arms into his coat and straps his sword belt on, watching Aramis do the same. They’re not looking for a fight, but it doesn’t hurt to make it clear who you are, what kind of treatment you expect. His sword isn’t gaudy, but it’s well made and well cared for, the buckles are still bright and the brass bear heads studding the belts are finely detailed.

Aramis’ belt glints with its own findings, ravens and flowers for a lover and a fighter.

The busiest road in town has wooden planks down the middle to keep everyone’s boots out of the mud, and they decide to start looking there.

Their lives have always been such that the sound of hammer hitting anvil usually fades into the background, so it’s the humming that actually catches their attention. The forge is glowing orange and the blacksmith has his back to them. The neck of his apron is stained dark with sweat. It’s running down his bare back and into the waist of his trousers. He’s wearing boots but no leg wraps, and his bare arms are swinging with the hammer.

Aramis can’t stop staring at his skin. It’s not the dark color that strikes him, in Hedeby they’ve had more than a few visitors from the south, it’s not a surprise to see this shade. What catches him is the loops and whorls of the man’s tattoo. It’s a wolf standing guard, his nostrils flared and teeth bared. The design clearly started simple, just the outline of the beast, but it has been built on, built up, until the embellishments curl over his shoulder and around his ribs.

Each time the smith’s arm swings, Athos can see the great wolf bristle and snarl against the skin. It’s impossible to look away. The tattoo is stunning, the man is beautifully built, together they are mesmerizing. He has always been able to find beauty in the male form, has found pleasure there as well on more than a few occasions, but this is altogether something greater.

As if he can feel them staring, the smith turns to look over his shoulder. Aramis makes to move, embarrassed at having been caught staring, until the man smiles.

Athos has felt like this before. Three years ago, on one of the summer voyages, they had been in the rain for three straight days; it had seemed as though they were traveling with the storm. On the fourth day, all at once, the clouds had parted and Athos could feel the sun, warm on his face. When this man smiles at them, it feels exactly the same.

The stranger’s eyes are warm and kind, wrinkled at the corners from laughing and checking the horizon. His smile is bright, dazzling, but somehow not overwhelming. The dimples on each side of his mouth somehow soften him, make him approachable and easy. Athos wants to close his eyes and turn his face toward this smile, to let it warm him.

Even Aramis has stopped moving, stopped trying to walk on. Somehow he has found the wits to smile back at this beautiful stranger.

“Can I help you?” the smith asks.

“We are looking around the town,” Aramis says. “Our ship arrived from Hedeby this morning and this is our first chance to stretch our legs. I’m Aramis and this is Athos.”

“Porthos,” the stranger says, his smile growing wider. “Welcome.”

Athos grabs at the first thing he can think of to continue the conversation. “What are you making today?”

“Nails,” Porthos says. “Somehow there are never enough. I could spend my life making them if I didn’t think it would kill me with boredom to do exactly the same thing every day.”

“I hope your work will fetch a good price,” Athos says.

“These are already spoken for. I’ll trade them with the silversmith; he has some repairs he needs to make, and he does nice work on buckles and pommels.” He turns the rod in the fire.

Every move Porthos makes has the wolf arching and moving. “Your wolf is very beautiful,” Aramis says, and it’s immediately clear that he thinks he has said the wrong thing, that it will be obvious they were staring.

“Thank you,” Porthos says, one dimple deepening even further. “We’re a lot alike, he and I. Both of us are at our most dangerous just when you think we’re beaten.”

“No!” Aramis says, laughing, “I can’t imagine you dangerous, not with that smile.”

Athos looks at Porthos, doesn’t move his eyes from that beautiful face. “I can,” he says.

“You’d both be right,” Porthos says, rolling the glowing steel against the anvil. “When I’m smiling is when you’re in the most danger.”

Aramis lowers his voice and says, “Oh, yes. That would be… terrible.” He punctuates it with a wink.

Porthos laughs even as Athos' face goes so red he fears the tips of his ears are glowing. "You'll have to excuse us," he says, grabbing Aramis by the elbow. "We have some things to attend to before this evening." He steers Aramis back out into the middle of the street and smiles as Porthos raises his hammer in a farewell wave.

"What was that?" Athos asks.

"I was paying a compliment! Surely work like that deserves a compliment." His grin is unrepentant.

"You were sent from the gods to try my patience," Athos says. "You're very lucky that I care about you as I do, it keeps you alive." He tries to sound menacing, but it's clear in his voice how much he adores his friend. They have gotten each other into and out of more scrapes than they can count and were it not for the fact that Athos worries they made Porthos uncomfortable, he would have been happy to watch Aramis and the handsome blacksmith flirt all day.

"Let's get on with our errands for now, if luck favors you he'll be at the hall tonight for the meal."

"If luck truly favors me," Aramis says, "all of his tunics will catch fire between now and then and he'll have to come bare-chested." At Athos' disgusted grunt, Aramis says, "I'm not the only one who wants to do creative things to that wolf with my tongue. You can pretend with anyone else, but you don't fool me." Athos doesn't say a word, he just hauls Aramis around the corner.

  
Luck does favor them. That evening, lighter in coin by having purchased some fine amber to carve (for Athos and the kubb pieces he is making) and a silver brooch worked as a trio of ravens heads (for Aramis, in all his finery), they find their way to the longest house in town.

The official business, whatever it was, is finished and the leaders and their advisors are celebrating. Prominent citizens and craftsmen are attending as well, in addition to the soldiers and sailors who ensured Wulfstan's safe arrival. When Athos and Aramis enter the hall, the fires are low but surrounded by glowing coals. The building is warm, but the smoke is all hanging just at the peak of the roof. If it stays this way they'll have hours of celebration ahead. All of them have been chased out of a hall by a smoking fire before, they're glad of the change of pace.

At a long table, they find Brandr and Kori and the rest of their crew. There's a place beside them and Athos and Aramis slide on to the bench. Dinner is simple but plentiful. There are platters of fish and mutton cooked over a fire, bread and parsnips and a fine sharp cheese. Their cups of ale are always full, and the company is excellent.

The conversation is brisk, and it takes almost an hour for Athos to realize that Porthos is sitting at the other end of their table, and he’s been watching them since they sat down. Athos smiles at him, a bit unsure but pleased to see the charming blacksmith again.

Porthos smiles their way for the rest of the meal. When it comes time to sit on benches around the fire and listen to the skald tell stories, Porthos plants his knees wide apart and his hands on the bench on either side of him. When he sees Athos and Aramis looking for a seat, he slides to one side, indicating the now-open spot on the bench.

They sit, Aramis right next to Porthos and smile gratefully. The skald starts with a story about a randy farmer’s daughter and Aramis laughs so hard he’s leaning into Porthos, tears rolling down his face. Porthos smiles at him, wide and open, and pats his back gently, a little uncertainly. That simple touch seems to open something between them and as the evening goes on Aramis’ leg moves until it is pressed against Porthos’ from hip to knee.

Athos is looking at them with an indulgent smile. If the beautiful blacksmith were to choose one of them for the evening, Athos is glad it’s his dear friend. Aramis is made of love, so easy to adore, and it has been too long since he spent time with someone who enjoyed his company as much as they enjoyed his body.

Aramis rolls a head heavy with ale until he is looking at Athos. He sees the firelight on Athos’ face, the shadows it makes under his cheekbones and remembers the split-second fantasy he had about Athos’ naked body in this same kind of light. His gaze grows hot just as Athos turns to smile at him. Athos is briefly startled by what he sees in Aramis’ eyes, but before he can say anything, before he can even look away nervously, Porthos runs his thumb up the outside of Aramis’ leg and Aramis turns to look at him, shuddering.

Something in that look has changed the evening for Athos. He’s seen Aramis look that way before, at women, at men, at treasure, but never at him. Now that he’s seen it, his skin feels too tight, and his body is hot all over. Over Aramis’ head, Porthos turns to Athos and smiles. Aramis is cupping the inside of Porthos’ thigh in his hand, and Porthos is looking at Athos as though they too were touching. It’s hot and tender all at once, and Athos’ throat is suddenly dry. He drains his ale and looks around for more.

Porthos catches Athos’ look and says, low enough to not disturb the storyteller, “We’ll do best by going out to get another barrel instead of trying to make our way through the crowd to find the open one. If we were feeling generous, we’ll get two.” His smile fairly twinkles.

“Sounds good,” Athos says. “I’ll follow you.”

Aramis looks from one to the other and says, “I’ll come as well.” Athos is sure that if anyone asked Aramis why he was holding on to Porthos as they walked out of the hall, Aramis would say it was so that he could find his way. After all, Porthos is so much more familiar with the building. That doesn’t explain why Aramis felt the need to put his hand on the back of Porthos’ neck, touching bare skin to bare skin, but Athos wouldn’t point that out.

Once they’re outside, the cold air hits their faces, and Athos might have expected that to sober them up, bring some sense to their actions, but it doesn’t. He still feels as though his skin is too tight; Aramis is still standing too close to Porthos, and Porthos is still looking between the two of them as though they were made of gold.

“Where do we need to go?” Aramis asks.

“This way,” Porthos says, pointing to the space between this longhouse and the covered stable building next to it. Athos and Aramis turn to follow him.

As soon as they’re in the shadows of the building Porthos turns to face them. Aramis, unable to wait a second longer, moves to press Porthos’ against the wall. He braces his forearms on either side of Porthos’ head. When Athos turns to go, Aramis’ voice stops him. “Stay, Athos?” Athos turns to him, confused, and Aramis continues, “I know how beautiful you find Porthos, and I know he feels the same. Don’t let this be a lonely night for you, my brother. Let me keep you warm. Let _us_ keep you warm.”

Athos’ exhale is almost a sob. He comes close enough to take Porthos’ outstretched hand.

Porthos turns to look at Aramis, so close their breath is mingling. “I want to,” Aramis says.

“I’ve wanted it all day, hoped like hell I’d see you tonight,” Porthos says. “Aramis, please.”

Aramis’ grin flashes at Porthos, then at Athos, and then he’s leaning in to press his lips to Porthos’, their mouths hungry for each other.

The first thing Athos is aware of is the feeling of Porthos’ fingernails digging into his hand, terrified. After that, it is just images and sounds and the feeling of their mouths against his through hundreds of years. Days, nights, summers, winters, all of them full of kisses, even those that were also full of pain and hunger and sadness.

He can see nights around a fire, Aramis naked and glorious in Porthos’ arms. Immediately after that is a memory of Aramis’ face, lined with age but still beautiful, helping Athos to his feet and kissing him. “How are you still so beautiful?” Aramis asks but before Athos hears his own answer the memory is gone, replaced with Porthos, surfacing next to Athos in a wide, still river. Water droplets cling to his eyelashes, and his smile is for Athos alone.

There’s a clear, perfect image of Aramis sitting cross-legged at the top of a wooden scaffold, pressing bits of bright red glass into the fresh plaster of a wall and grinning down at them both. “I love you,” he calls, and Athos can see Porthos blow a kiss in return.

“We love you, too,” Athos calls, and he is not afraid. Not of the words or the love or how his heart is knitted to these amazing men. He turns to Porthos and kisses him, his mouth too wide in a smile to properly connect and Porthos laughing into the kiss.

Here, now, in Truso, he can hear Aramis calling his name. Athos blinks and the memories are where they should be, in his past, in his mind, always. “Aramis,” he says. Aramis smiles and wraps his hand over where Athos and Porthos’ hands are joined.

“I love these,” Porthos says. “I love the times when we don’t have to find anyone, don’t have to convince anyone. When we’re all together when it happens and we can just…”

“Go forward,” Athos says.

“Yes,” Aramis says, turning to kiss Athos at last.

Porthos’ mouth is at Aramis’ ear when he says, “The first night it always feels like we’ll never get enough, and we need it all at once, but we do need to move away from the door at least.”

Aramis frowns and breaks his kiss with Athos. “Where can we—”

“I know. I know just the spot,” Athos says. Aramis can’t help but smile. No one ever suspects Athos has this in him; they always think he’d be the type to take this deep into the woods and hide it away, but Aramis knows better. “Aramis and I know a place that’s quiet, empty, and where there are at least two cloaks to use as blankets.”

Now Aramis is laughing. “We do, yes, and the docks are far enough away that I can listen to that beautiful noise Porthos always makes when he—” Porthos stops him with a kiss.

“You two go, I need to get something and I’ll meet you there,” Porthos says.

Aramis and Athos pick their way to the docks in the sparse moonlight. Their ship is large enough that it’s flush with the end of the dock, as far away as it can be from the town and the crowds in the long hall. Climbing on board they each pull their cloaks from their sea chests.

Crowding Athos against the mast, Aramis ducks his head to mouth at Athos’ neck; he drags his teeth along the tendons there and nips lightly at the skin above Athos’ collarbone. “Wanted this so much,” Aramis says. “Not just… not just now that I know who you are, who we are.” He pauses to suck a mark into the skin below Athos’ ear. Athos’ fingers curl into Aramis ribcage, clutching him close. “I’ve thought about this for so long, even before. If I’d…” He presses a wet, desperate kiss to Athos’ mouth. “If I’d done this the first time I wanted to, how long could we have been doing this?”

“Years,” Athos says, digging his fingers into Aramis’ hair, holding that hot mouth against his own. “Years. All the years I’ve wanted it too, Aramis. But.” Athos tears Aramis’ mouth away from his, holds him at a distance. “But without him, without Porthos, we’d always have been a little lonely. You’d always have had that sad smile you get when we’re together without him.”

Aramis remembers looking down at Athos, laid out in the grass and reeds of a hot, dry summer so far south of where they stand now. He remembers feeling so full of love that it seems there shouldn’t be room for the wistful sighs he hears from Athos. He remembers saying, “We’ll find him. He’ll be with us. Someday.”

“You’re right,” Aramis says now. He rakes his fingers through Athos’ hair, tugging his face close again. “We have had all these years together as brothers and friends. And now we have him, too.”

From behind them, they can hear Porthos stepping on to the boat, saying, “Now we have everything.” Athos turns to him and smiles. Porthos has an enormous hide under his arm; the fur of the deer is silver in the moonlight. Athos’ eyes grow wide, and he smiles. “You remember, don’t you?” Porthos asks. “You remember that night outside the camp, everyone else so far away and none of us knowing if we’d survive the next day?”

“Athos laid out on those sheepskins,” Aramis says, his throat tight. Porthos nods.

“I want that again. Want to lay you out on this and take my time with you,” Porthos says. Athos sags against the mast and Aramis laughs, pressing kisses to the skin of his neck. “Not yet, though,” Porthos says. "First, I wanna hear what Aramis has been thinking about doing to you for years.” His grin is wicked and filthy.

“Do you only want to hear it?” Aramis asks. “Or do you want to see it?” Porthos’ tongue sneaks out to lick at his lower lip and Aramis grins. “Do you want to watch me go to my knees and hold him on my tongue? Watch him put his hands on my head and take my mouth?”

“Shit, _Aramis_ ,” Athos says.

Aramis’ shrug is almost, _almost_ embarrassed. “The winter nights are very, very long, Athos. A man has to entertain himself somehow.” He drops his cloak to the deck, and his fingers are quick on Athos’ belt, tugging it free from the knot and the buckle, sliding it to the ground with the dagger and pouch still attached. “I want to get all of this off of you, I want to see you standing here naked in the moonlight, but I want to get my mouth on you more.” Aramis sinks to his knees on the cloak.

As he comes up beside them, Porthos can see Aramis tug Athos’ pants down to mid-thigh and bury his face in the crease of Athos’ hip and groin. They bathed earlier, scrubbed themselves in fresh, cold water from a nearby stream, but this spot on Athos' body still smells so much of him. Wool from his clothes, leather from his belt, and at the heart of it all, just Athos. Aramis hums with pleasure and Porthos stares down at him from Athos’ side.

“He always looks so pretty like this, doesn’t he? Always so good for us,” Porthos says, taking Athos’ cloak from him and dropping it to the deck beside them.

Athos chokes off a sob as Aramis’ tongue swipes at the length of him. “Aramis!” He buries his fingers in Aramis’ hair, not pulling just feeling the strands between his fingers. Athos is so hard now, curling up against his belly and the fabric of his tunic. Aramis runs his lips over the soft, hot skin of Athos’ cock and licks out at it, smiling up at him.

“That’s good,” Porthos says, “love seeing your face like this. Come on now, he’s waited so long.” Porthos twines his fingers with Athos’ where they’re curling against Aramis’ scalp, and together they guide his mouth to the head of Athos’ cock. “Let’s see it in your mouth,” Porthos says. “No playing shy, I know you love it.”

He does. Fuck, he so very much does. Aramis’ jaw goes slack as he slides his head forward, taking everything he can comfortably. He can feel Athos’ groan in his own skin. Aramis tightens his lips as he pulls back, a gentle suck and his wicked tongue playing along the length. He hums, so happy, and dives back in again.

This time he takes more than he can comfortably, gags himself on Athos’ cock, using his hands on Athos’ hips to push the head of it against the back of his throat.

Athos fists his fingers in Aramis’ hair and yanks him back. “Easy,” he says. “Don’t hurt yourself to please me. I couldn’t bear it.”

“He’s not,” Porthos says, one hand running up the side of Athos’ neck and his lips at Athos’ ear. “He’s doing this for _his_ pleasure. You’re always so gentle with him, but you forget how much he wants this, wants you to use his mouth. Go on, let him hear the noises you make while you’re fucking his mouth.”

Athos’ hips stutter forward, and Aramis’ deep groan can’t be mistaken for anything other than bliss. Free from his need to hold back, Athos holds Aramis still with one hand on the top of his head and rocks his cock into Aramis’ mouth. He isn’t fucking it particularly hard, but he’s pushing deep every time. Athos would worry about Aramis’ choking noises, about the drool running off his chin, the tears at the corners of his eyes, but he can feel Aramis’ hands on the backs of his thighs, gently stroking. Athos looks down at his face and sees that Aramis isn’t in distress, his expression is perfectly peaceful. He’s at ease, taking his fill of this pleasure he’s wanted for so long.

It doesn’t take long after seeing Aramis’ face for Athos to start to lose his rhythm. His hips start to jerk forward; he’s muttering “Please, please, please,” and even he isn’t sure what he’s asking for. Porthos is beside him, one hand on the small of his back and the other cupping his face, turning him in for a kiss. When Porthos’ tongue licks along his own, Athos moans and grabs Aramis’ head with both hands, holding him still as Athos spills down his throat.

Aramis sighs, happy and buzzed with pleasure, and licks Athos clean as he pulls his mouth free. Porthos kisses Athos until they’re both dizzy with it, holding Athos against him so that when he sags he only slips further into Porthos’ embrace. “Love you,” Porthos says.

“Love you,” Aramis says, his swollen, red lips pressing a kiss to Athos’ hip. Athos, steady on his feet again, reaches down to help Aramis up. They stand against the mast and kiss while Porthos takes both cloaks and his fur and makes a nest for them on the deck.

“I love you both so much,” Athos says into the kisses.

Porthos smiles up at them. “Athos, love, c’mere.”

It’s a clumsy affair; the three of them getting Athos’ remaining clothes off. Porthos gets his arms tangled in Athos’ leg wraps while trying to undo them, and Aramis accidentally knocks their heads together trying to pull Porthos loose, but they’re laughing all the while. It’s beautiful like this, the three of them together. Beautiful, even when it’s awkward and clumsy and unsure. It always has been.

As Aramis slips Athos’ tunic over his head, running his fingers up Athos’ arms and kissing his collarbone, Porthos trails a finger up the great bear tattooed on Athos’ back. There’s a deer as well; his stylized antlers curling over Athos’ shoulder blade. Aramis knows there’s a tree that snakes up and around his right biceps and a leaping fish on his forearm, but he’s never seen them like this. Porthos traces the bear’s ears, his solemn expression and the line of his haunches and Athos shudders under the touch.

The evening is cool, even in summer the nights aren’t nice enough for what they’re up to, but as he settles back into the fur, naked in the starlight and with Aramis and Porthos this close, Athos is warm to his core. Porthos pulls a pot of tallow from his pouch and smiles down at Athos as he pulls the lid off. Aramis kneels above Athos’ head; his hands stroking down Athos’ collarbones and chest as he whispers.

“You look so beautiful, my love. So perfect like this. Look at our Porthos learning your body all over again. I’ve been so lucky to have you near for so long, and now I’m lucky to get to watch him discover you.”

Porthos is tugging Athos’ legs up and open, running his fingers down the backs of Athos’ thighs and pressing a soft kiss to the inside of his right knee. “Someday soon we’re gonna do this by a fire so I can see you better, so I can watch your face while I do this.” He trails a tongue over the soft skin of Athos’ groin and strokes his balls with one broad hand. Athos shudders and arches under the touch, pressing his shoulders into Aramis’ hands.

“Yes, that’s just what he wants, Athos,” Aramis says. “He wants to see what he can do to you. Don’t hold back now; let him see how much he pleases you, how good we all are together.”

Porthos swipes two fingers through the tallow and presses them to the thin, hot skin behind Athos’ balls, sliding and stroking. At the same time, he stretches up and over Athos, bringing their faces close together. “Love you,” he says as he bends to kiss Athos’ mouth. Aramis thinks back to the image he’d had of Athos’ back arched over a lover, of Athos’ tattoo playing in the light, this is so close but so much better.

In that fantasy, it had been an unknown, faceless lover beneath Athos, and here it is Athos himself with the missing part of their hearts arched over him. It’s Porthos with them, learning them. Aramis knows that under Porthos’ tunic, his wolf is moving, playing in the bunch and release of the muscles in Porthos’ back, and he makes a note to follow every curve of that beast with his tongue. Soon.

Porthos is talking to Athos now, whispering to him as his fingers stretch and open Athos to take Porthos’ cock. His voice is low, but Aramis can make out Porthos’ words. “You look so fucking good like this. Thought I remembered it perfectly but I forgot the noises you make.” He kisses Athos again, wet and dirty. “You’re so damn tight around my fingers, Athos, can’t wait to feel you this tight around my cock.” Porthos’ voice raises, and he looks up at Aramis. “Always so pretty taking it like that, isn’t he?”

Athos has his hands gripping Aramis’ legs, using them for leverage to arch into Porthos’s touches. Aramis just keeps stroking over his chest, his shoulders, dragging his fingers over Athos’ tightly pebbled nipples. “Always, yes,” he says. Porthos bends to kiss Athos’ neck and Aramis tips his head down, kissing and sucking at Athos’ lower lip as he feels fingernails dig into his hips.

“He’s getting greedy for it, Porthos. I think maybe you’ve made him wait long enough.” Aramis has his hands around Athos’ upper arms now and Athos is twisting in his grip. Porthos smiles at the picture and stops to tug his trousers down. His cock is just a shadow in this light, but Aramis knows it by heart. He knows how thick and perfect it is, how nice it will stretch Athos even after all of the preparation he’s had. Aramis would envy him if he didn’t know his turn would come soon enough.

Porthos slicks himself with the tallow and pushes Athos’ knees further apart. Before he pushes himself into Athos, Porthos runs one hand up and over his chest, pausing with one calloused palm over Athos’ heart. Athos tugs himself free of Aramis’ grip and puts his hand over Porthos’. “Yes,” Athos says. “I know. Now, Porthos. Please.”

It’s like a lesson in torture by slow pleasure. Porthos lets the head of his cock kiss at Athos’ hole over and over, pressing a little deeper each time. Soon, Athos is begging, he’s swearing and cursing Porthos not long after that. Porthos just chuckles and says, “Aramis, that mouth of his is going to get him in trouble. Might get someone coming to check what the yelling is about, too.” He spares a wink at Aramis. “Maybe you could help him be not quite so noisy?”

Athos groans long and low at the suggestion and Aramis scrambles to pull himself free of his trousers. With the wool of his pants puddled at his knees, Aramis knee walks until he’s beside Athos’ head until he can see Athos’ eyes enormous and black in the spare moonlight. “Open for me, Athos.” Aramis presses a thumb on Athos’ lower lip and tugs his jaw down. Athos sighs and drops his mouth open, letting Aramis slip just the head of his cock in. Aramis fucks slowly into that perfect, warm mouth, feeling Athos’ tongue against him.

The sight is more than Porthos can take and with a stuttered groan he rests his palms on Athos’ knees and pushes his cock deep into Athos’ soft hole. After that, Aramis barely moves. He lets the movement of Porthos’ fucking push Athos’ mouth along his cock.

Athos, for his part, doesn’t even try to put a hand around Aramis, to guide him or hold him still. He just lays there and takes it. He can feel the fur against his skin, softer at the animal’s neck, coarse and thick under the small of his back. The night air is cool on his skin, and the wool of his blanket is rough under the soles of his feet. Athos is a creature of feelings and sensation now, made to take the take the surprisingly gentle rocking thrusts of Porthos’ cock and the tug of Aramis’ fingers in his hair. He moans against Aramis’ hardness, feeling it heavy and bitter against his tongue.

It’s too much to expect that after so long apart any of them would last very long. Aramis goes first, surprisingly. The sight of Athos so relaxed and open, just letting his body be rocked and moved by Porthos’ fucking, is so beautiful and Aramis can’t tear his eyes away. He’s caught in the ripple of Porthos’ muscles as he strokes into Athos and the look of concentrated bliss on Athos’ face, and it’s more than he can take. “Love you,” he says. “Love you. Love you so much.” He tries to pull out just before he comes but Athos’ lips tighten around him and Aramis spills into his mouth with a sigh and a moan, his fingers tight in Athos’ hair.

When he’s finished, Aramis drops to the deck, his mouth at Athos’ ear. “I couldn’t hold back, love. You just look so perfect taking him like that, letting him fuck you, letting him show you how much he’s missed you. I can’t wait to get the two of you somewhere where I can see you, I want to watch his perfect cock pushing into you. He always looks so impossibly big and I want to see you open up and just take him in. You can’t resist him. Neither can I. We never could.” Aramis twines the fingers of his left hand with Athos’ and with his right he circles Athos’ cock, grown hard again under Porthos’ fucking.

Aramis’ strokes mirror Porthos’, letting Porthos fuck Athos into Aramis’ hand. It’s good. It’s perfect. Porthos stares at the spot where Aramis’ hand is wrapped around Athos and says, “Can’t— I can’t. Fuck. _Fuck_.” With a few shaky thrusts of his hips, Porthos comes deep inside Athos, sliding in as far as he can as his orgasm comes over him like the wind catching in a sail.

Athos and Aramis both go still as Porthos pushes in again just a few more times as his climax wrings him out. When it’s over, when the tendons of Porthos’ neck have gone from taut ropes back to flesh, he leans down and presses a tender kiss to the side of Athos’ neck. Porthos pulls himself free and when Athos makes a sad, soft noise, Porthos dips his fingers back in, stroking and easing him through the emptiness.

When Aramis starts moving his hand again, Porthos can feel Athos tighten around his fingers. He slides his hand free and brings his fingers, still slippery with tallow and his own come, to twine with Aramis’ around Athos’ cock. Together they kiss his neck, whisper endearments, tell him how perfect he is for them, and all the while they stroke him. They’re slow at first, tight around him, but as he starts to twist under them, as his head starts to roll against the fur, Porthos slacks his grip and Aramis follows. With the looser grip, they move faster, and the only sounds are their breathing and the wet, slick popping of their hands moving over him.

He lasts for a minute, maybe two, of this attention and then Athos fists his hands in the hide under his fingers and arches off the deck, coming hard over their joined fingers.

“Good,” Aramis says, nearly cooing. “Come for us, let us hear you.” Athos’ cries are unintelligible sounds of passion and want as Aramis kisses his temple and Porthos cards a gentle hand through his hair. When the last of his orgasm leaves him, when he can loosen his fingers again, Athos pulls their joined hands to his mouth and licks them clean.

“Fuck, Athos,” Porthos says. “Always full of surprises.”

Aramis wipes Athos’ belly clean with a corner of one of the cloaks and then passes his clothes to him so that he won’t grow cold in the night air. The come back together on the nest that Porthos has made them on the deck, legs tangled together and trading lazy kisses.

“Come home with us,” Aramis says.

Athos kisses Porthos on the curve of his jaw and whispers, “Please.”

Porthos smiles, turning to catch Athos’ lips. “Was there even a question?”

It won’t be that easy, of course, they all know it. There are oaths to deal with, the artifacts of Porthos’ life to be moved across the sea. There is the danger of the voyage itself. But it will happen now, they’re all sure of it. They lay on the deck, warm in each other’s arms, and plan the bed they’ll build together. Aramis and Porthos will build the frame, Athos will carve the corner posts.

“Dragons,” Porthos says, and they all agree it’s perfect. Athos can already picture the carvings taking shape under his hands, the care he’ll put into each curve. He will put his whole heart into the great beasts, their wings arching up to protect his family and keep them safe while they sleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Porthos learned smithing from his grandfather. By the time he was four, Porthos had his own wee hammer and his grandfather would let him bang away on off-cuts and pot metal. Porthos makes most of his living on nails and hinges, but what many don't know is that he also makes swords and daggers. Mostly for his family, for his brothers and himself. They're well made and he works with a metal artist to make them beautiful. 
> 
> In Hedeby, Porthos makes swords for Athos and Aramis and trades with the metalworker for the perfect decorations. Athos' pommel is decorated with a great brass bear head. Not wild and snarling, but quiet and watchful. Noble and gentle even in his strength . The eyes are bright blue chips of lapis. When Athos sees it he's speechless, when Aramis sees it he looks at Porthos and says, "You got him just right."


End file.
